Fin de Siècle
by thanatophilia
Summary: The body of a monster.


He should have realized what Matsuka was from the first moment he focused on him, from the first moment he sniffed out that fear. Only monsters were so beautiful.

Keith had never been one for the appreciation of beauty, he lacked the programming. The only things which stirred reaction in him were Terra and Mother Eliza, but still he _knew_. He knew that Matsuka was beautiful, even if he cared little for the deep depths of his (beautiful) eyes. He cared little for the emotions that swam up in the syrupy amber depths.

He remembered Jomi Marquis Shin (would never forget), he remembered the brightness of those green eyes, the delicate set of his features: his jaw, his mouth, and those _eyes_. Jomi was a monster. Jomi Marquis Shin had reduced Keith Anian's perfectly ordered world to the incomprehensible babbling of children. Matsuka, with those same (beautiful) endless eyes was a monster as well. Endless with power and unchecked like the squat greedy beasts that had destroyed beautiful Terra.

Even kneeling at his feet, (beautiful) silent and demure, Matsuka was (beautiful) a monster. Unholy in his (power) beauty, and Keith cared nothing for it.

ͼ

Matsuka was a warm-blooded monster. When Keith ordered him to train, his pale body would sweat and flush with exertion (no stamina, ah, but he was _quick_.) When Keith was harsh with him in sparring he bruised purple, he bled red.

When they traveled together, hunting Mu, wandering space in sparse army pods, his thin body was warm pressed into Keith's. Jona was soft-skinned and _trembling_, knowing all too well that his Lieutenant did not make proper accommodations for them because he was nothing more than a (dangerous) exotic pet that hardly deserved its own bed.

The choices were to tremble or to sleep on the floor and Keith was well acquainted with his masochism, with his guilt and his devotion. Matsuka was warm-blooded, greedy, quick to anger, easy to hurt. The machine inside of Keith loved to test his limits, to stress him, to stretch him.

Fleshy little beast with untamed emotions and obvious lusts. Keith had been raised better, raised with strength and control. And a measure of cold-blooded cruelty.

Keith held Matsuka, warm and quivering in the cold of space. Keith breathed tepidly into the curls over his ear.

"Keith," Matsuka whispered plaintively, shoulders hunched from him, trying to hide from him in this tiny space they inhabited.

Keith Anian tightened his grip around him, one arm across his shoulders, one across his hips restrictive, restraining. Tight. If he pushed his forearm up over Matsuka's neck, it would not be long before the fragile warm-blooded officer would be dead.

"_Keith_," he repeated pathetically, half-sobbing over the contact, his warm body overheating, making his skin slick (tantalizing) and hot.

ͼ

Matsuka had very diligent hands. Quick and deft, steady and gentle, strong. He learned to imitate Keith's signature with alacrity, with preternatural ease, and while that pleased Keith immensely, as it spared him tedious paperwork, he was sure to remind the best of itself.

"Stealing another man's approbation?" he inquired, watched the furious shame spread along Matsuka's spine as he straightened in his chair. He finished the signature with a flourish.

"I think I can do it better than you now, Keith," he remarked calmly.

Lieutenant Anian settled his hand on Matsuka's thin shoulder. Watched him sign off on another report. It was all the approval or amusement he gave to the little animal before he leaned down to murmur into the loose curls of mousy blond hair at Matsuka's temple, "Go get me some coffee."

Matsuka looked at him out of the corner of his eye curiously, but rose and did as he was told.

His hands knew this command by rote, completed it as easily as he piloted a ship, shined a boot, saluted, ran fingers through his hair, undid a button, or rubbed the stress from Keith's shoulders.

The latter was one of Matsuka's most uncomfortable tasks, Keith knew. He never ordered his young officer to it, but that sensitive Mu knew when he was irritated, when he was fatigued, as rare as it was. Without fail those thin hands would descend on him, thumbs pressing in, long fingers fanned out over tight muscle.

Matsuka grew weak when they touched like this, trembled when they touched like this. As he tried to ignore the coldness of Keith's thoughts and the heated adoration of his own. No words between them, only breathing and work of his hands.

Keith relaxed under his touch and (cruelly) let him tremble.

ͼ

Matsuka had (beautiful) strong legs, built like a runner, thin and sleek and shapely. Keith was hardly surprised, considering all that Matsuka ran from.

His punches were weak, but his kicks… Keith admired the dark bruise the beast left on him in sparring. A love bite from too rough play. Keith found himself amused, smiling into the mirror as he ran his pale fingers lightly over the dark mark.

As his fingertips skirted the perimeter of the damage, he noticed Matsuka in the reflection, (beautiful) golden eyes wide, pink lips parted. Their eyes met in the reflection, and Matsuka froze, tense and deerlike. The thin white undershirt he'd worn in training was sill stuck to him with sweat and at Keith's cold, placid expression he drew closer, disappearing from the mirror, hidden behind Keith's frame.

His pale had reappeared, spread over the mark, fingers soft and gentle.

"I'm—" he began with apology in his voice, but Keith Anian stopped him, covered his hand and dug down until it hurt them both.

"You did well," he said flatly. He let Matsuka go, stepped aside to strip down and enter the showers.

Matsuka followed slowly after, stood apart from him beneath the spray with lean body gleaming and face downcast, sandy blond hair cascading over his features. He wasn't truly a violent person, battles and militarism were not really for him and he jerked in surprised when Keith's hands curved to his legs. He hadn't heard the man stalking up behind him, hadn't heard him think about it, but _that_ was not so uncommon.

Jona had thought their conversation was through, but was _wrong_.

"Next time you kick me like that," Keith warned, "I expect you to break my ribs."

"Sir," Matsuka protested, but stopped as Lieutenant Anian's fingers dug into his skin.

"If I can't best the beast, I deserve to be injured."

"_Keith_!" Matsuka protested more violently, turning to stare at the man, his (beautiful) amber eyes full of unguarded sadness. His (capable) shivering hand touched Keith's chest lightly.

It was there that Matsuka saw for the first time that Keith Anian was looking for a place to die. Hunting, not just for bastard Mu, but for an epitaph, one that would brand him a hero for ages or would shame his all-seeing mother for the rest of eternity. He was indiscriminate as to which, so long as it would live on beyond his pathetic runtime.

This was his goal and yet… Keith Anian had asked to be saved. Had instructed Jona on how to save him from the Mu and Jona had done it, knowing exactly who it was he was doing it for. The murderer of his own kind, the cold force that would annihilate a planet… His own kind had called out for him and he had returned to this man, to his guilt.

"Please, Keith," he whispered, drawing his hand back. "It doesn't have to be like that."

"Are you an oracle like her now?" Anian wondered darkly, saw the young officer bow his head under the accusations of abomination, but Jona lifted his face after a moment. He met Keith's empty stare with beautiful golden eyes blazing.

"You don't have to die like that," he challenged, reaching this time to touch the commander's cheeks. They were smooht, always perfect, even Jona had more hair on his body than Keith Anian, the computer's son.

At his invitation, the hunter drew closer, smiling faintly as Matsuka's hands framed his face and drew him in.

"And if I wished to die that way?"

Sadness blossomed in every part of Jona as he breathed (his devotion) an apotheosis, "_Keith_."

ͼ

Matsuka had such a (perfect) lying mouth. Keith watched the way he used it, watched the way he lowered his (beautiful) traitorous alien eyes and moved his (elegant) mouth, promising all those around him that he was nothing, that he was stupid, that he was worthless. And through his own words, it was true.

His own alien witchery turned back on him, a beast with a collar embedded into the tender flesh of its throat. And Keith loved to remind it of its place, to pull the chains tight and watch Matsuka's lying mouth fall open as he gasped desperately for air. Even monsters needed to breathe, it seemed.

But Jona's mouth never lied to him. Not once since Keith had seen him for what he was, not once since he had begged for his life and Keith Anian, Member's Elite, Mu Hunter, had granted it.

Jona's mouth was nothing but sweet. When his lieutenant was incensed, his gentle hands and soft mouth could soothe in an instant; trembling hands kneading shoulders, calm words of support tumbling from his lips.

The fearful politeness he played at for others was replaced with nothing but honey for Keith.

And Anian hated it. Told him to shut his filthy (_beautiful_) mouth often and Matsuka obeyed. His words were already spoken, had already taken root and he was satisfied.

Even in silence his mouth was an abomination. His lips ghosting over Keith's skin was Jona's guilty supplication, his gentle confessions, and his promises of obedience, which Keith extracted from him with cold pleasure.

The greed of a man and a monster, expressed in the breathless gasps of Jona's (sweet) lying mouth.

ͼ

Alone in their bed, Jona trembled. While on base in XO quarters, it was not so very uncommon for Keith to spend all his time in his office, his war room, looking through intel and maneuvering enormous flotillas in his mind.

It wasn't so very uncommon, and yet, Jona lay awake without him, rose without him, pale limbs luminescent in the dark of their room. Over the heating coils of their small standard issue kitchen compartment, he brewed a dram of coffee and toasted several pieces of the strange spongy substance the military claimed was bread. It tasted all right with the strange vitamin enriched sheaves of plastic that the military considered cheese.

He was sure Keith hadn't eaten, would present it to him quietly and wait to be told to leave. The door joining their quarters to the senator's office slid open silently, but Keith still turned to face him. The white sash hung lazily over his shoulder, his high collar open.

"Crying again, Matsuka?" he wondered archly. He did not reprimand his valet for the informal attire: simple undershirt, plain shorts, sleep clothes. Keith knew why he'd come and Matsuka was hardly effected by his jibe.

He set down the offering without a word and took the sash from the senator's shoulder, running the silk over his fingers before folding it neatly to be put away into a drawer. He hesitated then, lingering nearby as Keith sipped at the coffee.

"Are you coming to bed soon?" Jona wondered softly, expected another snide remark for it, but asked anyway.

Senator Anian swirled his coffee. There was nothing on his desk, not papers to sign, no proposals to review. He stood up and Jona watched him in shock.

Keith ignored him, left behind the food and began unbuttoning his shirt as he moved into the other room. Jona followed after him, taking the shirt to hang up as he shed it, the slacks as well. Keith continued on with his routine, cleaning teeth and stretching. Jona sat curled on the bed and watched him with sleepy half-lidded eyes.

When Keith came to bed, he did not have to move aside for him, there was plenty of room for them both. The luxuries of the Grand Mother's chosen.

He lay down at Keith's side, lips and nose just barely touching his arm. Keith rolled onto his side and trapped the young Mu against his chest.

"Good night, Keith," Jona murmured peacefully. But Keith said nothing, had already cleared his mind and was beginning to doze.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers.**


End file.
